


The Eye of the Storm

by ratedgrandr



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratedgrandr/pseuds/ratedgrandr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble for an odd ot3 I just thought would be fun. Rated M for smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bar Fights

**Author's Note:**

> Wow ok yeah this is my first smut fic so... there's that. I also really just love these guys a lot, this was incredibly fun to write.

When he got a call from the bar owner, Combeferre didn’t need to think twice. His response was a simple ‘I’ll be there soon,’ followed by a click and the scraping of a chair as the scholar stood and stretched, releasing kinks from his spine he hadn’t even realized had settled in. He’d been hunched over his text books so long that the unusual silence laying over the apartment had mostly gone unnoticed, and he vaguely remembered two sets of lips kissing him goodbye but once he was in the studying zone, nothing could phase him except for maybe a call from the bar, and that was simply because he knew it meant it was time for those lips to be cut off, or the fists belonging to those lips had found trouble.

He wasn’t scared or worried or nervous; this kind of thing had become such a routine for the three of them that Combeferre had it down to an art form. So as he he drove down the road in his beat up camry, he didn’t try and devise a plan like he might have done months ago, he didn’t worry or curse himself and wonder why he ever let those two leave the house. In fact, a small grin was on his lips as he fondly hummed along with a song on the CD Grantaire had made and insisted on putting in his car after realizing that firstly, Combeferre had no time for formulating his own taste in music, and secondly, what little taste he did have consisted of mostly classical music, which while he could appreciate, Grantaire could not tolerate constantly.

As he pulled up in front of the bar, Combeferre had to admit he was relieved to see there were no blood stains on the concrete and no ambulances flashing their warning lights (this had happened one time, and it hadn’t been a fun night, to say the least). He ambled through the door of the dingy bar and it didn’t take long for him to find the two men he was looking for, both hooting and hollering and causing a general ruckus, which wasn’t uncommon. Bahorel sat hunched on his stool, showing something on his phone to another patron while Grantaire laughed almost manically at the man’s expression as he paled and about fell off of his own seat. “... and this one I got when I tried to stop a car with my foot... I mean, it almost worked...” he said as he proudly held the phone out and the man reached his limit. He mumbled something about needing to get home and scampered off, beer glass in hand as he retreated across the bar.

Grantaire snickered and was opening his mouth as if to say something that was probably rude, but instead only a yelp came out as Combeferre pinched at his earlobe and tugged a little too fondly. He mimicked the action, tugging at Bahorel’s ear as well and causing both to slide from their barstools with looks of scolded children on their face. “Sorry if they were too much trouble, Tom,” Combeferre called to the bartender who smirked and shook his head.

“No much more than the usual,” he said as he grabbed the glasses from where the two had just been sitting. Combeferre released their ears, causing them to grumble and rub the sides of their heads.

It didn’t take long for the three of them to pile into the small car, Bahorel claiming front (and being restrained by Combeferre’s gentle hand from lovingly punching Grantaire’s arm over it) and Grantaire lavishly laid out across the whole back seat as he boasted downing more shots thus holding his liquor better and having the whole back to him which was quite comfortable.

“That’s fine and dandy but I’m the one who gets to give Ferre road head,” Bahorel laughed jovially as his boyfriend tensed in the driver’s seat and Grantaire immediately pouted as he shot straight up in his own seat, upset at the idea of missing out on such an activity.

Combeferre swatted Bahorel’s hands away from his pants zipper. “Rel, put your seat belt on,” he said with a sigh as the man tried once more to unzip his pants. This time he got a more intense slap across his knuckles as Combeferre focused intensely on the road, his cheeks tinged a slight pink as a surprised noise hiccuped from his lips and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. Grantaire, feeling left out, had draped himself over the back of Combeferre’s seat and was now sensually pressing kisses down Combeferre’s neck as his hands tugged at the hair on the back of the scholar’s neck. “Grantaire!” Combeferre hissed as he leaned forward and stopped at a redlight.

“What?” Grantaire whined as his fingers massaged at Combeferre’s hairline, a pout on his lips and his eyes wide in feigned innocence.

“Since when has loving your boyfriends become a sin?” Bahorel added to the chorus of words spouting from Grantaire’s lips, his words booming and holding a slightly affronted tone. Both men were incredibly intoxicated, he’d come to conclude, and all he wanted was to get home and get out of these damned tight jeans and go back to his reading.

The ride continued in silence, Grantaire pouting resolutely in the back, Bahorel twiddling his thumbs with a frown and Combeferre looking stoic but still flustered under his calm exterior. It didn’t take long for them to pull into the drive, and the two passengers were out in a flash with Grantaire’s arm around Bahorel’s waist and Bahorel’s arm in return around the cynic’s shoulders as they ambled into the house, Grantaire leaning his weight completely against Bahorel as they stumbled over the threshold and two shirts - Bahorel’s worn slipknot tee and Grantaire’s black v-neck - were ditched in the main hall as the men interlocked into a tangle of limbs and teeth and tongue, lips and fingers and hair all creating a chaotic kind of love that Combeferre would never completely understand but would always bask in. They were a hurricane and he was the eye of their storm, the calm in the water surrounded and entangled perfectly between two messes. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a sigh the man grabbed the shirts and shook his head. He had no intention of joining them in their bedroom, not tonight, because he had work to be done. The shirts were thrown into the laundry room, and he turned on his heel, about to go back to the kitchen, when he felt two pairs of eyes on him. From the bedroom both Grantaire and Bahorel were looking towards him expectantly, almost like two children waiting for Christmas presents. “No,” Combeferre said firmly as he shook his head. “No, I have work to do. You two can get back to your activities, but I cannot join you, not now!” he said, more to convince himself than the two pouting at him from their king-sized bed.

Bahorel frowned and Grantaire smirked with a shrug and a mumbled ‘oh well!’ and before either of the others had a chance to say anything, he dive bombed Bahorel’s face, cupping the man’s stubbled cheeks between his hands and pressing hot lips to Rel’s in a desperate attempt to act as if he didn’t care that the third member of their little party wouldn’t be partaking tonight. Nevermind Combeferre’s wandering eyes that dwelled a few seconds too long, nor the way that he hesitated at the hall, knowing that he needed to finish his paper but only having stamina and mindset for another activity.

The icing on the cake was the aggressive, possessive way Bahorel’s hand dove into the front of Grantaire’s jeans, slowly massaging and causing the artist to positively stutter and squirm under his touch. Combeferre knew the feeling all too well, could almost feel his lovers’ fingers entwining around him, thoroughly consuming him in lustful passion that would make him forget all of his stresses from the day. He was daydreaming, putting a strain on the front of his jeans, causing his heart to thump erotically at the very thought of what he was missing out.

“Oh, fuck me, Bahorel,” Grantaire hissed as his nails dug into the rogue’s back, raking down his naked skin and leaving bright red marks that all of them knew would last for a few days. Rel seemed all too eager to comply as his lips hungrily devoured Grantaire’s neck, leaving none of the skin unmarked, gloriously praising every inch of his boyfriend’s skin with his tongue and lips and teeth. Grantaire merely turned his head aside to allow Bahorel more canvas to paint upon, and his eyes immediately met Combeferre’s as a coy little smile etched across his face, dancing through his eyes. “Come join us, Ferre,” he moaned as he reached a hand out. A violent shudder ran through his body as Bahorel hit a particularly delicate spot, a spot that caused profanities to drip from Grantaire’s lips in sinful phrases, and immediately Combeferre was sold. How was he supposed to miss out on this?

It didn’t take too long to get Combeferre undressed with two eager pairs of hands tugging at his clothing, and soon enough the three were entangled, limbs and lips and teeth all desperate for more, aching for the other’s touch. Bahorel’s teeth scraped across Grantaire’s collar bone and his fingers groped Combeferre’s ass. Combeferre had hardly missed a beat as his lips caught Taire’s, his tongue massaging against the artist’s and his fingers entwined in those thick black curls that ran like silk between his fingers. Grantaire simply moaned his appreciation as he raked his nails down Combeferre’s back, marking his pale, smooth skin almost territorially, as if insisting that Combeferre was his - theirs - and no one else’s.

And then Rel’s fingers were inside of him, stretching him, filling Grantaire with a satisfying tinge of lust and warmth, only a soft indication of what was to come and yet still so completely perfect. It made him moan in need as Bahorel continued his work and grinned wickedly towards Combeferre, proud of his performance and the noises he was soliciting from the artist caught between them. Combeferre made work of Grantaire’s length, his fingers massaging gently as he sucked lovingly upon the sensitive skin of Grantaire’s neck. He was so busy that he didn’t notice Rel nip at Grantaire’s earlobe, a mischievous grin still upon his lips as he whispered something into Taire’s ear. The artist moaned abruptly as Combeferre’s thumb traced along the head of his length, and he had to bite his lip and nod, grinning in agreement with Bahorel before adjusting the three of them, him on all fours, Bahorel braced behind him and Combeferre splayed out upon the bed. The scholar looked ready to protest, about to stop them, but before he could a line of soft kisses were peppered down his chest, gentle and loving, as Grantaire’s skilled fingers knowingly caressed along his erection, stroking and coaxing a beautiful chorus of soft, breathy moans from the man which in turn caused his partners to smile widely, enthusiastically, as if to coax more of these gorgeous noises from Combeferre’s lips.

And before Combeferre could even think, before he could protest and go back to the work he really needed to be doing, Grantaire had swirled his tongue around the head of him before tracing his tongue down the underside of Combeferre’s cock and then fully taking the man into his mouth. And with that Bahorel slowly slid himself into Grantaire, and there was a chorus of moans as each of the three men succumbed to the pleasure washing over them in soft waves. Slowly, Bahorel slid out of Grantaire before diving back in, thrusting himself in to the hilt as Grantaire took as much of Combeferre into his mouth, opening his throat and stroking his fingers lovingly down Combeferre’s thighs. Combeferre moaned, an utterly delicious noise cracking through the darkness as his fingers entwined with Grantaire’s curls and he tugged, wanting - no, needing - more of the artist.

The steady rhythm established grew more desperate, more of a necessity than a needing, three heartbeats completely entwined. The rushing of their blood coupled with the longing in the words spilling forth from lips like water from a fountain created a beautiful culmination of noise fabricated with the moans and whimpers and ‘oh please, right there, just - just --’

And then they were diving over the cliff, head first free falling into an oblivion of complete pleasure. The warm waves were no longer lapping but crashing as muscles tensed and relaxed, breathes caught and names were moaned and toes curled out of the deliciousness of it all.

The three collapsed into a sweaty mass of tangled limbs, flushed skin and feverish kisses pressed where ever they could find purchase. It was sticky and sweaty and messy, but Combeferre refused to have it any other way. Grantaire and Bahorel weren’t perfect; they weren’t proper and refined, they were loud and ruthless and disgruntled. But they were his, and that was all that would ever matter. He didn’t need perfection, because perfection was in the flaws and mistakes and arguments they would sort out together.

“I’m going to go finish my paper.”

Combeferre made to get out of bed, but was held fast by two steady pairs of hands. And it was as rough, sensual kisses were placed along his chest and arms slung across his chest to keep him in place that he knew he was home.


	2. Road Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bahorel and Taire get bored during a long trip to Boston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pressured into writing all of these things.

It was a biology conference in Boston, Massachussetts that had Combeferre stuck in the driver’s seat of his toyota Camry that dark Sunday night, and Grantaire and Bahorel were along strictly for the ride. After doing some rather impressive research, Combeferre’s mentor at NYU had insisted upon the young man coming down to the conference this week to present his findings and give a talk, and while he was mostly nervous, Combeferre was also feeling hopeful.

As soon as he’d told his boyfriends about the trip, they had immediately started the discussion of packing, as if there wasn’t even a question in if they were coming or not. Grantaire could easily get off of work for a few nights seeing as all the other bartenders were always looking to pick shifts up, and Bahorel had gotten laid off a few days prior due to using swear words at a table that had made guests feel uncomfortable, thus how he’d come to decide that waiting tables just wasn’t his cup of tea. Combeferre had nervously told his boys that it wasn’t necessary, he could last a few nights in an empty hotel room, and both of them had snorted.

“It’s not all about you, Combeferre,” Bahorel had said with an eyeroll.

Grantaire nodded insistently. “I’ve never been to Boston, always wanted to go though. Plus, I love sleeping in hotels,” he said with a smirk.

Bahorel had grinned wolfishly and nodded in finality. “So we’re all going. It will be like a romantic getaway except you will be stuck in meetings all day and we’ll be out having fun. Not like that’s anything new.”

So Combeferre had prepared his speech, made sure everything was right with the hotel reservations, and had nervously anticipated the upcoming trip. How was he supposed to explain to his peers and the scholars he could potentially have future jobs with that yes, he had two boyfriends, no, they weren’t the most well-mannered of people, but yes, he did love them very much. It was always the same: you can’t love two people, everyone told them. It just isn’t how it was intended. But Combeferre would be quick to argue that that was completely wrong. And after all, love wasn’t something you really chose, right? People just sort of fell into love, and Combeferre was no exception. He just happened to have fallen in love with two people instead of one, and all love really was was a chemical reaction in the brain that caused you to feel attraction towards others, so why couldn’t he feel that attraction towards two people?

His catholic parents had practically fainted upon hearing he was in a relationship with a man, and adding a second to the mix had just made for a very awkward family dinner.

So if his peers had trouble accepting it, that was how it would just have to be. He loved Grantaire and Bahorel, and that was enough. It was a gut feeling, one that kept him up sometimes, but one he never questioned. It didn’t matter what other people thought anymore.

The day of the conference came much faster than any of them had anticipated. Between the three of them they had one large duffel bag, two suitcases and a backpack a piece. Grocery bags full of snacks and a cooler full of drinks were in the car as well, even though the drive wasn’t too far. Most of it was to keep Bahorel and Grantaire entertained, considering those boys had little to no attention span and Combeferre would be busy driving so he couldn’t guarantee keeping their attention for too long.

After a brief fight over who would get shot gun (this was a constant fight that happened every time they rode anywhere and it always ended with Bahorel up front. Honestly Combeferre didn’t understand why Grantaire even bothered anymore) ensued before Bahorel climbed in front and Grantaire took his place in the back, sprawled out across the back seat and grousing about his position, though the smug look on his face said he thoroughly enjoyed it and was just complaining to be complaining.

At first the two were content to listen to music, both of them screaming out the words with their heads hanging out the windows as they flipped off truck drivers and laughed over the reactions such actions it received. It was late enough that the interstate was mostly empty, and while Combeferre appreciated this, neither of his companions seemed happy about it. They turned to their phones for entertainment next, playing tic tac toe and texting each other weird pictures they found, but it wasn’t enough. An hour into the drive Bahorel was sprawled across his seat, legs extended and fingers twItching.

“I’m fucking bored!” He yelled as he punched the head rest behind him, startling Grantaire out of his thoughts and earning him a withering look from Combeferre. “Seriously. I don’t remember road trips being this boring.”

Grantaire sat forward in his seat, resting his chin on the shoulder of Combeferre’s seat and draped himself over the scholar. “We should play a game,” Combeferre suggested as he lovingly stroked Grantaire’s cheek and turned to press a kiss upon the skin his fingers had just traced over.

“Nah, I don’t have th patience for road games,” Grantaire sighed as he pressed a few gentle kisses down Combeferre’s neck, ignoring the way he fidgeted away.

“Grantaire, I can’t have hickies, not when I have to present at a conference with some of the most acclaimed biologists in the world!” He cried in slight frustration as he shoved at Grantaire’s hands which were wandering down his chest beneath his cotton shirt. While it felt nice to feel Grantaire’s skin against his own, Combeferre needed to focus on the road.

It was too late though. Grantaire and Bahorel had shared a conspiratorial look, one that always meant they were up to no good. It was incredible how well the three knew each other, how simple things such as eye contact and a touch could convey more than words ever could between them. They didn’t need to say I love you; it was etched in the soft kisses they shared, branded upon their fingers and traced across soft contours of the bodies that fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle that made up a beautiful picture when melded together.

Combeferre started as he felt nimble fingers tug at the button of his jeans and immediately he sighed as he tried to push Bahorel’s willing fingers away. He could feel Grantaire’s lips back upon the sensitive skin of his neck, the way his tongue knowingly caressed the sensitive dip in his bone structure, and a soft grown of lust and annoyance escaped Combeferre’s lips. The distraction had allowed Bahorel time to unbutton his pants and tug down the waistband of his boxers, to which Combeferre cried out in surprise and annoyance. “Bahorel!” He hissed, frustrated because damnit he needed to focus on the road but God, he knew just how good it would feel and they were pretty much alone and this really couldn’t be such a bad idea, right?

Combeferre could feel Grantaire’s fingers snaking down his chest again, his lips tracing across his jawline as Combeferre tilted his chin up, his eyes steadily on the road. “You guys, this isn’t ok,” he practically whined as Grantaire’s other hand tangled through Combeferre’s neat hair, mussing it as he tugged at the blonde locks and scraped his nails against Combeferre’s scalp. Another soft noise left Combeferre’s lips as Bahorel’s fingers deftly stroked his length, applying slight pressure as he teasingly ran his tongue across the head of Combeferre’s cock, which solicited a rather beautiful moan from the scholar.

“You so sure about that?” Bahorel asked as he slowly bobbed his head, taking Combeferre’s tip into his mouth and teasingly swirling his tongue around and massaging gently.

Combeferre’s breath hitched as he adjusted himself in his seat, fidgeting a bit has his hips instinctively thrust up towards Bahorel. “This, t-this isn’t… oh, god,” he said weakly as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and huffed out a small noise somewhere between a huff of disdain and a moan of pleasure.

Bahorel took that as approval and dipped his head, running his tongue along Combeferre’s length as Grantaire sucked on his earlobe and teasingly nipped the shell of his ear.

It was sensory overload, honestly, and if Combeferre hadn’t been driving he was positive he already would have drifted away on a cloud to heaven. Bahorel was licking and sucking, his cheeks hollowed as his fingers gently gripped Combeferre’s thighs as he bobbed his head skillfully, opening his throat and taking in as much of his boyfriend as he could.

This odd display continued as Combeferre felt an odd coiling in the pit of his stomach. He was trying his damnedest to keep his eyes on the road, though every few seconds he would lose his focus and the camry would start drifting into the other lane. All three of them could only be thankful it was late and no cars were around them, because they would have positively wrecked by now if that had been the case.

With a final head bob that caused Bahorel to choke slightly from Combeferre’s head scraping against the back of his throat the scholar unraveled, his muscles momentarily tensing before relaxing as he came and a fresh, powerful pleasure washed over him as Grantaire threw himself over the back of the driver’s seat and grabbed the steering wheel to keep them from completely veering off the road. “Fuck, Rel, you almost got us wrecked!” Grantaire chuckled as he carefully steered from over the back of the chair.

Combeferre’s head was rolled back and leaning against the headrest, his breathing labored as his breath hitched and he moaned at the feeling of Bahorel’s tongue licking him clean. “You asshole,” the man said breathlessly as he swatted Bahorel’s hand away and tugged his pants back up. He felt amazing, as if he were flying above the world, soaring on some unseen winds that had him wrapped up in a warm cocoon. He inhaled deeply, wishing this amazing feeling to stay forever. He knew it wasn’t possible, but he could try and hold onto it for a bit longer. After a few more seconds of deep breathing he straightened up and took the wheel back, still feeling rather elated though he knew he should be concentrating on the road.

Both men chuckled as Grantaire placed a soft kiss on Combeferre’s cheek before sitting back and sighing. “Damnit, we’re going to have to take care of my hard on when we get back to the hotel,” he said with a broad grin.

“Nothing like some good hotel sex,” Bahorel agreed.

The third of their party scoffed. “You two are the absolute worst,” he mumbled. Combeferre and Grantaire shared another wide grin before attacking their boyfriend with sloppy kisses.

“We have two more hours, Combeferre, you’d better watch yourself,” Bahorel teased.


End file.
